Anemone
by datsonyat
Summary: "The anemone is the embodiment of dying hope and of those who are forsaken." Shizune doesn't want to believe she's either, yet. [SI/OC, AU. Self-Insert!Shizune drabble-fic.]
1. Between Heaven and Earth

**Anemone**

 **Between Heaven and Earth**

* * *

The world is _beautiful_ , a magnificent, ever-changing swirl of vibrant colours and movement, sometimes gentle as tiny waves lapping playfully at her feet, sometimes violent like a raging windstorm that threatens to knock her to the ground and blow her away into a cold, bitter, unrelenting night.

 _How oddly specific,_ a lilting whisper coos into her ear. She doesn't hear it, enraptured by the pink petals drifting down around her like snow. She spins, tiny body strangely coordinated, laughing in delight as the world spins with her. She breathes in and lets everything meld. Soft pink and white blend with the brilliant blue of the sky.

It reminds her of the kaleidoscopes she used to play with as a child.

 _Child?_ It's weird, she thinks. It doesn't quite make sense. She _is_ a child, isn't she?

 _Are you really, though?_

She falls gracelessly, tripping over her feet, thudding onto her stomach, dizzy and confused for all the wrong reasons. Her world, alive with light and colour and beauty, suddenly seems muted, more fragile, riddled with immeasurable cracks that allow the darkness to flood in like acrid smoke. Her nose hurts a little bit, but it's not what pushes tears to pool in the corners of her eyes. She stares at her small, chubby fingers, lost for words.

This is right, isn't it?

(This is wrong, isn't it?)

"Shizune!" her mother cries out, rushing to her side.

 _Shizune, Shizune,_ something dark, spiteful, and ugly slithering in the back of her mind whispers, taunting.

"Okaa-san," she acknowledges in a daze, going boneless as the tutting woman rights her. She can't help but smile widely at her mother's face, her kind green eyes.

"Don't cry, my sweet blossom. It's just a scratch."

Her mother giggles a little, wiping her eyes with a feathery light caress. The sound is soothing, and it's easier to forget. Okaa-san's fingertips glow a pretty green—medical chakra; Shizune's always been drawn to it—and the pain disappears, just like the haunting memories that dare act like vengeful spirits.

Okaa-san's slender hand ruffles her messy hair, and she laughs louder when a shower of petals come free.

Shizune grins, darting out of her mother's grasp. She drops to her knees to reach for a whole cherry blossom, to offer in thanks to her mother.

As she reaches down, pale, silvery blue tumbles over her shoulder. She freezes, heart clenching painfully in her chest.

"Shizune?"

 _Shizune._

Why… why isn't her hair dark?

* * *

 _"The anemone symbolizes dying hope and is the embodiment of those who are forsaken. Yet all is not lost as this beautiful flower can also be used to indicate anticipation."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Drabble fic for writing exercise! No, this does not mean I've given up or put my other fics on the backburner. I will attempt to update this every day. Massive thanks goes to **BirdBoss** and **nora9gina** for beta'ing, being there for me, and all around being freaking amazing friends! Ilu guys forever! Credit for helping me with the cover goes to **SassySizzleMonster**.


	2. Paradise (Lost)

**Paradise (Lost)**

* * *

Despite the blistering heat Fire Country's summer has to offer, everything is cold and grey. Her beloved world (life) is irreparably damaged after hanami.

"It's not right, it's not right…" Shizune continuously mutters to herself, sickly white—pale as her hair—and shivering violently, reminiscent of a leaf facing the unstoppable might of a hurricane. It's impossible to look away from her horrified reflection.

Her hair isn't dark. It's simply not right, _can't_ be _right_. Her hair should be dark, it's always been dark. _Why_ does it look like Okaa-san's and Dan-oji-san's? It makes _no sense_. Her ears ring, sound vanishing against the all-encompassing din.

(Shizune's not supposed to look like this— _dark_ , her hair should be _dark_.)

She blinks, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, and the mirror _ripples_. Shizune gasps, chest unbearably tight, heaving for breath as painful goosebumps raise over her trembling body. Her hair is black once more—the way it should be—

 _You little idiot,_ something laughs mockingly, full of cruelty and scorn, _you know how genetics work, don't you?_

"I know," she wheezes, small, childish hands smearing the glass as her hair bleaches pale blue again.

 _Shizune,_ it hisses, _you have the name, but come now; surely you didn't expect to be a carbon copy?_

The ringing reaches a fever pitch and she screams one long, loud note, shattering the mirror with her small fist. Neither the pain nor the blood register (but they're old friends. _How can you forget me?_ )

Who has Shizune been trying to fool? She knows, _she knows_.

White spots rapidly fill her vision and it spins and swims until it's a raging, nauseating tornado. She stumbles from the stool, gagging, barely reaching the toilet when she begins to vomit between terrified cries.

The truth is unfathomable; her mind refuses to comprehend it. Parts of it begin to push back and shut down.

(Don't remember, don't remember, _DON'T REMEMBER_ —)

Her hair's been this colour since the first time she saw it, but it's not supposed to be.

Okaa-san's hands are suddenly on her shoulders and her concerned voice in her ear, but she can't hear the words, can't understand them.

Maybe Shizune doesn't want to.

* * *

 **Hanami** – cherry blossom viewing, in this case.


	3. A Strange Child (I)

**A Strange Child (I)**

* * *

It is an undisputed truth that Katou Mimika loves her daughter dearly, which, in turn, breeds guilt. A mother should love their child unconditionally, should love all of their oddities and little quirks.

Mimika does not.

'Quirky' and 'odd' are terms nowhere near far-reaching enough to describe Shizune, who can be utterly _unnerving_.

Exhaling shakily, Mimika looks down into her lap, where her worn daughter is cradled, finally sleeping. She takes care not to fall into the habit of stroking Shizune's now short hair. The little girl is hugging a picture of her father to her chest.

She breathes deeply, attempts to calm her erratic heartbeat. She forces back tears when her grim eyes fall on the picture frame.

Daisuke had dark hair. _Right hair_ , according to Shizune.

" _It's wrong! It's wrong! IT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BE THIS WAY!"_ _Shizune screams, voice hoarse from mostly unintelligible shrieking and raw with madness, Mimika's firm grip the only thing stopping her from ripping fistfuls of hair out._

Nothing she'd said had placated Shizune, and frankly, she's beyond stunned, edging into fear. Her well-composed, soft-spoken daughter's never done… _that_ , never had a complete mental breakdown.

Mimika won't call it a fit or tantrum, not even close. She's seen scarred and traumatized shinobi as a medic-nin, and she's terrified that Shizune's displaying similar traits. PTSD crosses her mind, but PTSD from _what_ , exactly? _(You know what.)_

But, Shizune… she's always been a… strange child. She hit milestones far earlier, walking and talking while other children still struggled to stand. Her vocabulary, understanding, and capacity for learning rose startlingly quickly. Her physical coordination in comparison to those her age is second to none.

The few that witness Shizune's feats praise her, hailing her as a prodigy. They tell Mimika she should be proud.

Mimika is torn. Her daughter is _strange_. Her birth was no exception.

Mimima remembers it vividly, and will forever be grateful that Tsunade had so graciously offered to be there. The birth itself had been normal. Shizune hadn't been, choking and dying the second she tried to take her first breath. Tsunade, true to her title and all her prowess, had swiftly diagnosed an impossible, fatal amount of Yin chakra overwhelming her system.

Tsunade, using everything her vast knowledge and heritage provided her, had saved Shizune against all odds, a testament to her incredible skill.

Mimika feels the tiny hairs on the nape of her neck rise at the memory. She picks her daughter up, carrying and putting the exhausted girl to bed. She swallows the lump in her throat as she watches Shizune's chest rise and fall.

Even asleep, Shizune's expression really isn't that of an innocent, carefree child. She appears haunted, and Mimika feels hopelessness burrow into her stomach, latching its claws into her like a little vicious beast.

She pulls Shizune's shirt up, both relieved and frightened by the untouched, perfectly formed, tiny light lilac diamond resting just above her bellybutton.

" _Understand this: it's absolutely impossible for an infant to carry this level of spiritual chakra. Yin chakra is derived from the mind's consciousness and increases through life experience."_

Mimika goes to bed every night contemplating this, and is horrified every night by the implication.

There are enough eyes on her child as it is.

She silently prays for nothing to change, and thanks god for Dan and Tsunade.

Without them, without the secrecy they share, she's not certain Shizune would still be her daughter.


End file.
